"You will tell us what we want to know!" the interrogator screams at me less than an inch from my face. I don't know where I am or how I got here; however, the single light bulb is bright, darkening the rest of the room. At the far end of the long room (am I in a warehouse?) I can make out a rosy shade of sunlight entering through a small window. The color suggests either a dirty window covered in reddish dust or the current time is near sunset. My hands are tied behind my back with a rough old rope, surprising as my interrogators wear modern battle armor. "I don't know what you want!" I scream back at the man. Whose face scrunches up, and I swear his eyes begin to water as he stumbles back like I mule-kicked him in the chest.
"Get this man some gum, Sargent, I'll be back in five," he says while walking toward the door. "Gum?" I think in the back of my mind as the massive Sargent steps in front of me. The "gum" must be code for something else, I believe, as I clasp my mouth tightly together. My jaw is no match for the two hands clamped down on both sides of my mouth. My nose is covered, and I struggle to breathe. Finally, with a snort, my mouth opens, my eyes flash wide, and I gasp, sitting in bed. Wait, is that "Juicy Fruit?" As the dream fades, I stumble through the dark into the bathroom. The nightlight is on, and I flush the toilet and wash my hands. As a second thought, I pull out my toothbrush, still moist from three hours before, and brush my teeth a second time. For good measure, I rinse with mouthwash before going back to bed.
I curl into the same position; however, I note that my right arm is bent with my hand under my pillow. My head lies in my elbow's crook, and my wife's pillow is closer than usual; I had been breathing into a small gap under her pillow. With no air circulation, I suspect I was about to die from lack of oxygen, or my subconscious thought my breath was terrible enough to work the scenario into my dream. My subconscious can be a real prick sometimes.
I've mentioned before and to some, probably ad nauseam, that I grew up during the tail end of the positive mental attitude era. PMAs' focal point is the subconscious mind and training the subconscious to help achieve our goals. In 2008 an article by M. Gorsline appeared in the GTD Newsletter, [^1] offering insightful suggestions on working with, not against, the hidden storehouse of our mind.
In the article, Gorsline helps us recognize by visual language the vast difference between our conscious mind and our unconscious, referring to them as the rider and the elephant. The rider, i.e., the conscious mind, is "dwarfed" by that part of our mind that moves and wanders outside our conscious awareness, and when conflicts arise between the two, Gorsline reminds us that "the elephant can go where it pleases."[^2]
Gorsline's article focused on habits; however, the illustration brings into sharp relief the difference between our two minds. Our subconscious mind holds a vast inventory of thoughts[^3] and M. Levy has written an entire book on how to mine the best parts through timed freewriting sessions. [^4]
M. Gelb also attempts to illustrate the vast difference between the two minds by saying that neuroscientists estimate this incredible database "outweighs the conscious" on a magnitude of ten million to one.[^5] Gleb claims that this hidden resource is "much smarter than you are;" however, I have reservations with its little nit-picky jabs here and there.
I move silently through the dark water, keeping my arm and compass in front of me, the soft glow of the illuminated dial indicating I'm heading in the right direction. From behind the ladder, secluded in darkness, I shed the rebreather and fins, allowing them to drop to the lake's floor fifty feet below. I push gently through the film of ice to ensure I'm alone before swinging around the ladder and arriving on the dock in a crouch. The falling snow will eventually cover my trail; however, the routine guard rotations will only come this way if something catches their eye.
I hurry toward the maintenance shack, where the lock is open. I move inside the old wooden building. So far, our inside man has provided invaluable assistance, and I pick up my weapons and evening wear attire. Tear-free wet suits to reveal a pressed tuxedo underneath only happens in movies, and I pull from the rusty nail a garment bag from Savile Row in London. Carefully I remove the tuxedo coat and lay it atop the garment bag to avoid dusting the jet-black cloth with the thick layer, blanketing everything in the shack. The pants are next, and I hold them up to the light. Bib overalls? Wait, What? Yes, I hold an exact duplicate of the bib overalls my wife purchased for me because my old ski pants didn't fit this year. Just a gentle reminder from my subconscious that I'm no James Bond. Sigh...
Written December 22
Footnotes:
[^1]: Gorsline, M. (2008). This is Your Elephant on GTD. Any Questions? p.8.
[^2]: Ibid
[^3]: Levy, M. (2011). *Accidental genius: Using writing to generate your best ideas, insights, and content*. San Francisco, CA: Berrett-Koehler. Location 150
[^4]: ibid Location 160
[^5]: Gelb, M. (2004). *How to think like Leonardo da Vinci: Seven steps to genius every day*. New York, NY: Delta Trade Paperbacks. p.160.